


Fall For Me

by casthewise (quillquiver)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x07 coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Love, NSFW, Season Ten, Slow Sex, Smut, Spoilers, girls girls girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/casthewise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas pulls away. “I thought you said meaningless sex wasn’t a good idea?” The words are as teasing as they are serious.</p><p>“This won’t be meaningless.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall For Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Я тебя поймаю](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577224) by [bfcure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bfcure/pseuds/bfcure)



> This is a coda to 10x07: Girls Girls Girls. Also on [tumblr](http://thursdayschild.co.vu/post/103652775748/coda-to-10x07-girls-girls-girls-blue-eyes-stare).

Blue eyes stare at him through the screen, their colour made even brighter by the darkness.

 _Jimmy Novak_.

The face—his face—looks the same. A little younger maybe, a little less ragged, but ultimately the same. Fundamentally the same. The chin and the mouth and the nose. The eyes. The hair. All of it is still there.

_“Castiel? I’m about to lose my family here, um…”_

Jimmy Novak was all the things he’d told Hannah and more. He was kind and gentle and brave. He was a good father. He had faith in spades.

But he was naïve.

_“Castiel, please, tell me what to do.”_

Cas has never been afraid of his reflection, but he thinks he might be, now, in the car all alone. It feels eerie, like he and the laptop and the ghost of Jimmy Novak are all sitting together, all with the same face, all breathing the same air. Forcing his eyes up, Castiel catches the blue of his irises in the rear view mirror.

It's a lie. Jimmy Novak is no longer breathing. He’s in Heaven with Hannah.

The thought punches his breath out of him so fast that Cas almost chokes at the sheer discomfort of it all. If he didn’t know for sure, Castiel would have said that the air was sucked out from inside his vehicle.

But he knows better.

Just like he knows that the bright blue eyes in the mirror are his own, and so are the hands, and the feet, and the skin. Cas knows that  _he_ is the sole being within this body. This body that he took away from its family. He, Castiel, angel of the Lord, ruined a man’s life. He took a father away from his daughter and a husband away from his wife.

He  _ruined a man’s life_.

He wasn’t strong as Hannah was, today. He was weak and dense. He didn’t get it. Even now, Castiel finds himself with the uncomfortable feeling that he  _still_ doesn’t grasp something. Sure, he understands guilt and loneliness and pain. He understands hard, hurtful emotions like betrayal. He understands attraction and lust. Cas even thinks he understands love; the deep, romantic emotion that is so often sung of and written about.

But still, there’s something missing—

The door opens and Caroline slides into the passenger seat.

They sit in silence for a while, Cas looking at his computer while she stares at him, her husband shivering in the rain outside as he waits for her. The car door has been left open and they’re holding hands like they’ll lose each other if they let go.

Castiel is torn between wanting a hand to hold of his own, and politely closing the door so the interior of his vehicle doesn’t become water-stained. Both these trains of thought lead him to Dean.

“You should call him.”

“Hm?” Cas tilts his head to looks at her. He raises a brow.

“The man you rescued,” Caroline continues kindly. “Dean? You should call him.”

Castiel forces the corners of his mouth into a smile.

“You’re alone, aren’t you?” she asks. “In that body… the owner is gone.”

Silence.

“And now Hannah is, too.”

Caroline waits for Castiel to respond, but when it becomes clear he isn’t going to, the young woman merely touches his hand. “You should call him,” she repeats for the third time. Cas turns and keeps his eyes trained squarely on his computer screen. Caroline slips out of the car. She stops before closing the door, however, leaning in with a little smile that so resembles Hannah. “Thank you, Castiel,” she says just loud enough to be heard over the rain. “I know what you did for us and what you continue to do. You’re a good man.”

 _A good man_.

Cas doesn’t think so. He thinks that he’s a murderer and a screw-up. He can barely take care of himself, let alone the people he cares about. In point of fact, Castiel is quite confident he is anything but a good man—though the phrase gives him pause. Man.  _Man_.

Is it not in a human’s nature to make mistakes?

Still feeling far from chipper, Cas manages to drag himself out of his head long enough to grab Caroline’s hand before it disappears. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

The mortal smiles.

When she and her husband retreat indoors, Castiel closes his laptop and fishes his cellphone from his pocket. In an act of what he is certain is unparalleled stupidity, Cas presses his number one speed dial.

“ _Cas? What’s wrong?_ ”

Castiel slumps in his seat.

“Dean.”

***

Cas fidgets in the booth, wiping his hands on his pants and playing around with the bent corner of the plastic menu. It’s three o’clock in the morning and he’s sitting in a diner, alone.

“Hey, Cas.”

Not alone anymore.

“Dean.” The hunter’s name slips from Castiel’s lips like sweet relief, and Dean’s smile goes from exhausted but okay to concerned in no time flat. He slides onto the seat opposite his angel and doesn’t bother looking at a menu, but Cas speaks first:

“What happened to you?” The words are rushed and loud in the quiet of the restaurant, but that doesn’t feel important. Dean is… his face is a rainbow of purple bruises and healing cuts. He’s injured. He’s  _injured_.

“’M okay.”

“No, you’re—Dean—” Castiel reaches forward with his first and middle fingers extended, fully intending to heal him when a warm hand grasps his wrists. Dean’s knuckles are scraped up. He should have been there.

“Don’t,” the hunter says quietly. “Not here.”

But Castiel is desperate. He needs to fix  _something_. He needs to be useful. He needs to do something that goes against the belief that he is wrong in every sense of the word; that everything he touches turns to ash. “Let me,” he begs. “ _Please_.”

“What if someone sees?”

“I’ll alter their memories. Dean. Please.” He reaches forward and Dean moves out of reach, the hunter’s frown of concern even deeper than before.

“What happened?”

All at once, Cas decides that this is a very bad idea.

It had seemed brilliant over the phone: meeting up for late night breakfast with the excuse of talking about their respective cases. As it turned out, Dean had been just as desperate for a way to escape for a little while and had readily agreed to the 24hr diner at their halfway point. 

Either way, it’s a terrible idea.

Because Castiel doesn’t want to talk about his feelings. He wants to stare at Dean’s face and attempt to count his freckles and try and look past the overwhelming taste of molecules in his food once they finally order. He doesn’t want to sit across from the one man whose company he’ll always crave, acutely aware of the fact that that craving will never be fully satisfied.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Dean sees right through him. The hunter opens his mouth no doubt to press for something more substantial when a perky waitress practically bounds to their table. “Hey there, welcome to Rita’s. My name is Brit and I’ll be your server this morning. Are y’all ready to order? Can I maybe get you somethin’ to drink?”

Brit is gorgeous: with long, pin-straight blonde hair tied into a ponytail, and porcelain skin. Her eyes are blue and she has perfect white teeth. She looks like Claire Novak. She is exactly Dean’s type.

So it puzzles Castiel when Dean merely gives a tired smile, glances down at his menu, and rattles off his order.

Cas is so confused that he stares at his best friend instead of paying attention to his own menu, and when Brit finally manages to get his attention, he has no idea what he wants. Castiel looks down at the plastic-covered paper while chewing his lips, brows furrowing. “Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” Brit smiles. “It’s early.”

Cas smiles back. This girl is very nice, he thinks. She’s patient, and her soul is bright and radiates kindness. She’s studying criminology. Castiel briefly wishes that she could sit with them as a buffer, and asks her what her favourite item on the menu is to stall having to talk to Dean. Brit blushes delicately under his gaze.

“He’ll have the same thing I’m having, but swap the pancakes for French toast.”

Castiel turns his head so fast it almost snaps off, but Dean isn’t looking at him. The hunter is looking at their waitress, and his smile is the most blatantly forced thing Cas thinks he’s ever seen. Brit apologizes to him before taking their menus and saying she’ll be by with coffee. She practically bolts to the kitchen.

“Kids these days, am I right?” Dean asks humourlessly. The expression on his face is once again one of deep concern. “Okay, talk to me. She flirted with you and not only were you totally aware of it, you weren’t  _stopping_ it. And what, suddenly you're cool with  _obliviate_ -ing every Tom, Dick and Harry just for the hell of it? Cas, what's goin’ on?”

Brit returns with a pot of coffee, and Dean slides his hand across the table so their fingers are brushing. Castiel can’t stop looking at the place where their skin touches. Carefully, he withdraws his fingers and sets his hands in his lap.

"I don't want to be alone," he says.

Dean expression morphs into one of understanding. "Trust me," the hunter laughs bitterly. "Meaningless sex ain't the way to fix that."

But Castiel doesn't want meaningless sex. He wants to ask Brit about her cat and about school and about that boy she went on a date with. He wants to be something to someone, and she so resembles Claire...

But Cas doesn't say any of that. He doesn't even know how to begin saying all of that.

So, he keeps quiet.

Their food arrives shortly after and both men eat in relative silence. Dean is on his second cup of coffee when he tells Cas about Rowena and Cole. He's frustrated that the witch got away, but there's this resignation to his body language, like he's tired everything. Like he's made peace with something merely because he can no longer fight it.

He reminds Cas of a man awaiting the gallows, and it’s disturbing.

Perhaps that's why the angel soldiers through the inevitable pain and loneliness that will follow, but whatever the reason, Castiel reaches across the table. Dean’s palm is resting on the formica-covered tabletop near his plate, fingers slightly curled as he spears homefries with the fork in his other hand. He looks up in alarm when Cas swipes a thumb over his knuckles, resting his own palm just close enough that the sides of their hands are touching. For a moment, Castiel thinks that Dean is going to pull away. He braces himself.

But rejection never comes.

Instead, Dean continues to eat his homefries. He keeps his eyes on his plate and the corners of his lips tilt up in the ghost of a smile. Impossibly, the hunter seems to feel lighter as a result of the contact. He presses his hand more firmly against Castiel’s like nothing has changed.

Cas takes a bite of his French toast.

***

They loiter in the parking lot before leaving, both men leaning on the Impala as they stare at the night sky. Just looking at the stars causes Castiel’s stomach to roil, and he quickly changes his gaze to the gravel beneath his feet.

“Dean?” he asks softly, unaware he's even spoken until the hunter looks at him expectantly in the dark. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Cas swallows thickly. “Dean, what am I?”

No answer. Castiel tucks his chin to his chest. “I’m not human…" he continues. "If you stick a knife in my chest, I’ll survive. But I’m not an angel. I feel things an angel is not supposed to feel, I do things an angel is not supposed to do, and no matter how hard I try…”

“Hey,” Dean says sternly. “Stop it. Intent counts, remember? You always do  _everything_ with the best intentions.”

Castiel smiles bitterly. “I’m not sure that’s enough anymore.” He sighs. “Hannah left today. She left her vessel to return to Heaven. She… gave up on the mission. She said she was done. She said she felt things with me, but that emotions are not for us. She  _left me_.”

Dean scoots almost imperceptibly closer, the weight of his body a solid weight against Castiel’s side. He doesn’t say a word.

Cas is thankful.

“I don’t know what to do,” he continues. “This vessel is empty. This body has been mine for years and I never even considered—I’m a bad person, Dean. And I’m not even a person. I’m nothing. I’ve killed and tricked and for what? What is the point anymore? I don’t—” His voice hiccups then, and when Cas reaches up to rub at his eyes, his fingertips come away wet.

Castiel clenches his jaw.

Angels don’t cry when they’re sad, because they can’t feel sadness.

“Cas—”

“Dean,  _what am I_?” 

“You’re Cas,” the hunter says, little it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You’re just Cas.” He steps around then, boxing Castiel’s body in with his own. Dean’s palms rest level with Cas’s shoulders, and he ducks his head to meet blue eyes. “You’re a person,” he continues firmly. “You’re a  _good_ person. And you’re…” Dean trails off, carefully thumbing a tear from Castiel’s cheek. His hand slides into dark hair. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, leaning in. “Just the way you are.”

Unlike Hannah’s kiss, Castiel responds to this one immediately.

It isn’t aggressive in any way, but it’s needy. Desperate in a way that requires little movement but involves pressing together almost painfully. Cas needs this. He needs the contact and the closeness. He needs  _Dean_. The angel whimpers at the contact, palms pressing flat to the Impala as he forces himself not to touch. He doesn’t know what’s allowed. He doesn’t know if Dean is going to leave. He just  _doesn’t know_.

What he does know is that he craves this. He wants it. In body and spirit and whatever else there is, Castiel wholly  _wants this_.

Dean pulls away slowly, blunt nails scritching at the base of Cas’s skull as they hover in shared space for a moment, both sets of lips parted. Castiel can’t help but drift forward, eyes focussed on Dean’s mouth before slipping shut entirely.

The next kiss is open-mouthed.

Their lips turn wet and spit-slicked, tongues meeting in that odd way that comes with kissing. It’s infinitely more pleasant with Dean than it’s ever been with anyone else, and Cas lets himself anchor a hand on the hunter’s hip. His free hand brushes along a bruised cheekbone.

“Let me heal you,” he pleads into the other’s mouth.

Dean pulls back and shakes his head. “Need to feel it. Need to feel everything.”

“Why?”

“Reminds me what I am.”

Cas can’t argue with that. He nods no matter how hesitantly, accepting the next deep kiss Dean gives him. This one is more hungry; wanting more than exploratory, and Castiel’s body responds. He chooses to throw himself into the pleasure and deal with the consequences later, to hang onto whatever thread of support he can find no matter how temporary. He chooses to take a page from Dean’s book.

If this night is going to break him, he will give it a reason to.

Dean’s hands trails down Castiel’s chest to pull his shirt from his pants, kisses turning more aggressive. Cas’s hips are pinned to the car. The rutting motion between them starts in whispers at first: with the soft hiss of fabric sliding together before it’s something uncontrolled and feral. Castiel holds tightly to Dean as they kiss like the world is going to explode, like if they don’t have each other  _right now_ everything will end.

Dean reaches around to open the passenger door of the Impala.

Cas pulls away. “I thought you said meaningless sex wasn’t a good idea?” The words are as teasing as they are serious.

“This won’t be meaningless.”

With those four words, everything changes.

They don’t rush as they squeeze into the cramped backseat. Their previous aggression dissipates. Suddenly, the way Dean touches Castiel is gentle and deliberate; from the way he kisses him to the way they disrobe. It takes no time for the pair to be naked, for their skin to be touching  _everywhere_.

The warmth lights Cas up form the inside out.

He keens under the attention of Dean’s mouth on his neck and chest and cock, closing his eyes and demanding moremore _more_  with every jerk of his hips. In movement, he asks for everything from Dean’s body to his very soul. He asks for as much as his best friend is willing to give him.

Dean gives it all.

He lavishes Castiel’s body in kisses and licks, smiling at the other’s attempts to return the favour. His angel is rapidly approaching a state of orgasmic bliss and couldn’t reciprocate anything beyond a kiss if he tried. “ _Dean_ …”

“Right here, Cas. I got you. You’re okay, Angel. You’re okay.”

“Closer,” Castiel begs. “ _Closer_.”

“Cas—”

But Cas can’t handle half-assed protests. “You won’t hurt me,” he interrupts, desperate. “You won’t you won’t  _please_. I want everything, Dean. I want to remember  _everything_.”

Castiel doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He just knows that he needs like he’s never needed before. He knows he’s wrong now, too. He knows he’s crazy. Because this closeness that he wants? This will be the thing that ends him. It will end him and he's still is running headlong into it.

Dean kisses Cas sweetly. He peppers smooches down his body and stops low on his abdomen, sucking marks onto the skin. He spits on his fingers before sliding them down to circle Cas’s hole.

Castiel cannot stop his hips from jerking up.

“I’m here, Angel,” Dean murmurs into his skin. “I got you.”

Though space is tight, Castiel, angel of the Lord, loses his virginity in the backseat of a ’67 Chevrolet Impala parked in diner lot.

He gives a sigh when Dean finally slides home, the pair clutching each other tightly as they stop for a moment. Cas can feel tears spring to his eyes again, but he doesn’t know why. Dean shushes him with sweet words that make him cry all over again:

“Don’t cry, Cas. We’re okay. You’re perfect, Castiel. You’re perfect just the way you are. I wouldn’t have you any other way. Don’t cry, Angel. Don’t cry. I got you. I won’t let anything bad happen.”

Castiel kisses Dean for all he’s worth.

“Cas, babe, I gotta move.”

“No,” the angel pleads. “Just wait. Wait a minute, please.” He looks into green eyes, completely awed. “Dean, we’re so close,” he breathes. “Do you feel that?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, Cas, I feel that.” He leans in for a kiss. “Let me show you how the rest of it feels.”

It’s like touching something so cold it burns hotter than Hell itself. Like flying around the world until even blurs of colour blend into something unrecognizable. It’s as if sparks of electricity zing through his body with every one of Dean’s thrusts.

But that isn’t even the best part.

The best part is how they are entwined.

On every plane of existence, Cas and Dean are one; their bodies, Grace and soul… all of it comes together to create an intimacy so indescribably  _intense_  that Castiel feels he’s going to burst. He can’t stop sounds from tumbling from his lips, though whether they’re in English or Enochian or any language at all, Cas doesn’t know. He just knows he’s climbing higher and higher and higher and he has to drop at some point, at some point everything is going to come crashing down and he wants it he wants it so  _badly_ but it will  _destroy_ him.

“Fall for me, Cas.”

He does.

Castiel falls spectacularly, his plummet so impressive that it rivals even that of Lucifer. He feels like he’s floating before reality plants him firmly in his body, tingles running across his skin in bursts of light he can’t see. Dean collapses on top on his chest with a gasp.

They hold each other.

Castiel’s hand sinks into Dean’s hair, the other pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses wherever he can reach. It’s surprising, Cas thinks, that he’s so tired, but he is. His eyes droop and his lips are in a soft, satisfied smile that Dean laughs at. “You good there, Don Juan?”

“Mmm.” He leans in for a proper kiss.

Dean happily obliges, and the hunter tucks nonexistent hair behind Cas’s ear as they part. He’s smiling in a way Castiel has never seen before, but the angel decides that he likes it. Dean looks soft here. He looks happy.

Cas kisses him again. “You caught me,” he whispers, terrified and awed as the words leave his mouth. They land, trembling, on the other’s bottom lip.

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, if a little uncomfortably. He grabs a blanket from the front seat then, grabbing some wet wipes while he’s at it. After cleaning up, he tucks Cas to his chest and pulls the blanket over them both. The lack of space leaves for no room between them, but neither man complains. Castiel feels himself begin to drift off. But before he loses himself to sleep completely, five words filter through the blackness. They crawl into his chest and take up residence from his heart:

“ _I’ll catch you, Cas. Always._ ”


End file.
